


a game of two cats

by am doing a breakthrough science (acceptnosubstitutes)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Begging, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Magical restraints, Wining and Dining, cock & ball torture (non graphic), dom/sub dynamics, mentioned drug use, playful antics, rivalries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/am%20doing%20a%20breakthrough%20science
Summary: On a whim, a bored Nabriales discovers Emet-Selch and Azem have yet to make a move on their mutual friend. That sounds terribly like achallenge.
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, Nabriales/Hythlodaeus, Nabriales/m!oc
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11





	1. sharing is caring

**Author's Note:**

> It's like this: I was perfectly happy writing wintermas fic, then Nabs shows up in my little gremlin brain all "don't you just want to go apeshit?"

Stuffy meetings bore the life out of Nabriales. Convocation meetings at the top of the list. Today he entertains himself discovering how long he can get away emptying his whiskey flask into Emet-Selch's coffee before the architect sets him on fire again.

Given both flask and mug stand half empty, Nabriales decides to up the ante. There's no way he hasn't tasted the difference. And it's not like either contributes much to present discussion anyway.

"How is he?"

Emet-Selch finally stops pretending to pay attention to anything Lahabrea and Mitron are droning on about, slinking back in his chair.

"What do you want?"

"How is he," Nabriales repeats, inversely lowering his voice as his lips curve up, "Hythlodaeus. He who claims my lonesome colleague's attention attracts my own, yes?"

Emet-Selch sighs, long and low, through his nose. Drains the rest of his mug.

Nabriales raises an eyebrow. Is he serious?

"How are you not?"

A sneer turns his way before Emet-Selch sinks further down.

"It's complicated. You would not understand."

Like shit it is. If there's a more open secret than Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, Nabriales would dearly like to hear about it. Collecting rumors only his bread and butter, after all.

But if Emet-Selch denies so thoroughly...

"Well, well," Nabriales says, grinning at him. "If you can't be bothered, I simply must intercede. _You_ understand?"

Oh ho, ho. He can't see Emet-Selch's face through his mask, of course, propriety a bitch and all that. But he feels the sudden cold shift in his cohort's aether like someone slipped a sheaf of ice shards into his smalls. 

"Emet-Selch. Nabriales." 

Ah. Lahabrea. Suppose that last outburst wasn't best quiet, huh? Nabriales lolls his head in the general direction of the other man, his only concession Lahabrea holds his attention. Emet-Selch chooses to continue losing his in his empty mug. 

"Have you information of any substance to share with the room?" 

Nabriales chuckles lightly, propping his boots up on the table. Folds his hands behind his head and gives a languid stretch. 

If Lahabrea clenches his jaw any tighter he may actually break something. Dear. And then where would they all be? 

"Oh you know Emet-Selch doesn't _share_ , speaker." 

Nearby, Pashtarot and Altima subtly edge away from both of them, Emet-Selch's aura flaring with that tell tale sign of death energy. Really and truly pissed, then. And drunk. 

Nabriales smirks. Like they're privy some private joke and Emet-Selch isn't currently processing the ramifications of fisticuffs over the meeting table. 

Nabriales' weekend plans are only looking up. In all manner of phrases. All that remains is convincing Hythlodaeus. 

Shouldn't be that hard, if Emet-Selch has been leaving his poor friend high and ah, ha, dry? Utterly dreadful. Really, he ought to _thank_ Nabriales for rectifying that mistake with such prompt enthusiasm. 

Honestly. What are friends for? 

Let it not be said the majestic not a gentleman, of course. Little bit of wine. Little bit of dine. Before the whole lot a bit of smoking hot sex. 

Hmm. Maybe bend him over Emet's desk? Would that be a faux pas? Probably. Definitely repeatedly. Nabriales finds he rather likes that idea immensely. 


	2. there's the burn

Weekend plans take a backseat to 'Nabriales is very much invested in keeping his dick intact' plans. As it turns out, Emet-Selch holds a grudge. And where Hythlodaeus is concerned, he holds grudges _possessively_ apparently. Best to let ruffled feathers settle. And not die. Takes ever so long to reform, after all. Can't fuck the chief out from under Emet if Nabriales is busy stewing in a soup of incorporeal aether, now can he?

Not to say he remains idle while dodging his stormy colleague's ire. No, not all. Much and more reconnaissance he commits to his busy schedule.

Recon. Not, as some might term it, spying. 

He and Hythlodaeus _are_ , technically, coworkers. Sort of. At a squint. Tangentially. Thus Nabriales has every reason to find himself in the lovely man's vicinity. Purely by happenstance of the workday.

Ignoring entirely his labs exist at the opposite end of the capitol block, nowhere near the bureau. And what needs a creationist a chemist?

Plausible reasoning should Emet-Selch wise up. Not full proof deniability.

Nabriales learns Hythlodaeus' work schedule easily enough. Arrives early. Leaves later. Tied with Emet-Selch as the last person to leave the bureau, despite the fact Emet's office _actually_ located in the capitol building.

Not unexpectedly. Tied at the hip a true understatement, even before Nabriales began delving into that particular, juicy rumor. Why he figured Emet-Selch had been tapping that for years and still can't believe he hasn't even touched.

Unfathomable. 

Truthfully, Nabriales usually attended holiday festivities as an excuse to get drunk, find some pretty, warm thing and forget his title for a few hours. Not socialize. Perish the thought.

But the fact remains he's at least seen Hythlodaeus without his mask, hood down. Not thought terribly much of him at the time given the majestic was on several, ah, _illicit_ substances of his own design. 

Enough of a memory to recall, though. Maskless, hoods off events always did stick in the mind.

Ash grey, silver hair he wore long at the time, not even really put together but messily collected and twisted under tie over one shoulder. Somehow on Hythlodaeus it came off less lazy and more mischievously intended. 

Nabriales remembers vaguely respecting that vibe but again, really baked out of his mind.

Wide eyes the color of gold, amber mead. Very charming features overall - softened, fine boned. Quite proportional. 

And of course, that mouth. Full lips - that kind of soft, pleasantly plush look Nabriales may or may not have mixed up with his date of the night. What? He never claimed to be a paragon of virtue.

Really. That Emet-Selch would deny himself such company, clearly readily available. A masochistic streak run ever deep, and not even in the fun way.

But where was he? Right. Learning schedules lets him learn when the chief takes his breaks, and where.

A quaint little hole in the wall "restaurant" the majestic completely overlooked by dint of not realizing it was actually even there to start. Terrible advertising. Placement. A fair walk for Hythlodaeus past several other, far brighter and better smelling venues too.

But whatever this little dive has going for it - certainly not a name, or at least not one Nabriales can discern - it certainly seems to draw Hythlodaeus back time and again frequently enough.

Often leaving with lunch or dinner for two. Again, predictable.

As small as it seems, the place still hires a few waiters and waitresses. One in particular Nabriales zeroes in on for the mere fact he near trips over his robes every time the chief shows up.

It's the same man every time too, younger than his male coworkers by voice and mannerisms. He greets Hythlodaeus at the door with obvious (shy, even, ye stars) enthusiasm even if Nabriales is too far away to make out words.

Does not where to put his hands, poor lad, at times seeming like a handshake is in order or he wants to touch his shoulder. Freezes up every time. Think him a fledgling on his first crush in Akademia or something. Provided he even attended, which Nabriales sincerely doubts.

Point being, the majestic can use that. Just need to figure an angle. The right timing. Not, for example, when a shadow falls over Nabriales, threatening to blot out the sun.

Ah, fuck. Azem. The third piece of that open secret. Don't ask Nabriales how that works, or doesn't as it were - and a threesome anything other than hot, kinky sex physically hurts Nabriales. Why bother?

The traveler walks the streets hood down and red hair free flowing in the breeze. With mask today. Often forgets. Half the censures on his record, in fact, because he 'forgot'. The other half - reckless, brash, foolhardy, why some might even call some of Azem's closer calls outside Amaurot's walls death seeking.

That's the sort of creature who prowls his way, stopping short a socially acceptable distance away. Azem glances over the restaurant's peeling paint. Then at Nabriales.

"Little lowbrow for you, eh?"

In a word, certainly. Not a place the majestic would call a first choice. Or even a distant third.

Nabriales spreads his arms to the sides, affecting mock hurt.

"Whatever could you mean, Azem? Am I not free to dine where I wish?"

Azem chuckles. Shakes his head. Eliminates most of the distance between them and tilts in close.

"I know you've been stalking Hythlo lately," he says, "What do you want?"

Tone's mild. No trace of an aether flare like Emet. Azem even bears a pleasant smile. Still makes the hairs on the back of Nabriales' neck stand at attention.

"Why must I desire anything? Is Amaurot no longer a free city?" Nabriales crosses his arms, adopting Azem's posture so that they almost knock heads. "Is the capitol block my gaol? You my jailer? Please."

"All right," Azem says, "all right. I tried. Don't blame me when Emet murders you later."

When _Emet_ kills him.

Azem shrugs, finally backing off just enough.

"What's the likelihood I'll be there to see you fuck up?" Pauses. "But if I am?"

And yeah, yeah there's the burn. Brilliantly blazing bright without the cloud of alcohol behind it, intent sharpening heat blistering till Nabriales winces and gives first.

Azem smirks. "Get the message yet? Piss. Off."

Oh, he gets it all right. But if his colleagues think threatening him turns him off pursuing their friend, it only eggs him on. They're all adults here, and certainly Hythlodaeus can make his own choices. Nabriales merely wishes to give him a wider variety of options.

Diversity the spice of life, as Mitron might spin it.


	3. salty and sweet

But also best to let Azem's blood settle before pursuing that waiter. Or at least wait until he's out of town again.

Adds yet another day or two to what was meant to be a pleasurable few days distraction so really, Hythlodaeus should try to be worth all this trouble. If the thought of the look on Emet-Selch and Azem's faces that Nabriales beat them to that ass first wasn't so tempting…

He finds himself inside a dingy little place no more respectable than the outside. Grey and black color scheme. Booths and tables certainly seen better days under brighter lighting than whatever meager fire crystals scrape together enough to see.

Respectable broom closet. Real roomy. Plenty of space for activities. 

Nabriales closes the door and steps into the waiter's space, slotting knee between his legs. Watches him flush a lovely red under his mask.

Moves the other man's hands to the majestic's shoulders, where the waiter actually feels him up. A little. Cheeky thing. Must just be shy around the chief.

"Well hello there, friend," Nabriales says. Smiles.

Until he speaks, of course, and the man realizes exactly who is under the anonymous white. Really, they shouldn't assume. How else would any convocation member relax among their fellows on their down time if they stuck out like a sore thumb?

"You're -"

Nabriales waves him off. "Yes, hello, me. The majestic, of the fourteen. Introductions do get so tiresome. And you are?"

"K-Koinos," says the waiter, clearly intimidated though he notably does not remove his hands. Tacks on a hasty, "sir."

"Enough of that. You think me Lahabrea? We're friends here. Could be _good_ friends, even."

Punctuates his words by raising his knee and rubbing it just so against the other man's groin. Almost feels a tad bit bad how fast Koinos groans, clutching at Nabriales to hold himself together. But only almost.

See, he's not saying _no_ , or giving other signs any of this is unwelcome. Nabriales, infamous flirt and debaucherous lech he's known to be, remains ever aware of the vast power difference between his seat on the convocation and the general population. To think otherwise speaks of grave misconduct. And that just won't do.

Still, Nabriales does need a clear 'yes'.

"It's like this, Koinos. You have something I rather need. And for your discretion, I'm prepared to return the favor." 

Nabriales curls fingers around his hips, stroking lightly down his thighs. Grins at the bob in his throat as he swallows. He gets the message, yes.

Koinos seems at a loss for processing. 

"What could I possibly have that would interest someone. Someone like you?"

Nabriales continues stroking, edging closer to the inside curve of one leg where the real heat builds. Tilts his head to the side as though he thinks about the question.

"Oh," he says, thoughtful, "your quaint little establishment attracts all sorts of customers, yes? The chief of the architect's bureau, for instance. What culinary delights does such a lovely man prefer, hmm?"

At mention of Hythlodaeus, Koinos rouses, blinking at Nabriales. Seems to come to some of his senses but steps into the majestic's hand rather than away from it. 

Well, well.

Koinos bites his lip.

"I-I shouldn't. Admetos warned me about you."

Nabriales raises an eyebrow which, of course, he can't see. 

"First name basis with Azem? Aren't you well connected. Really now, what's the harm in such knowledge? I should hardly use your gift with ill intentions, friend."

And for the first time Koinos grows a backbone, straightening as best he can in their squashed position against a wall. Looks sternly at Nabriales. Or tries to, the majestic assumes. If only he'd led with that.

"What are your, uh, intentions?"

Funny he should ask. 

"I intend to invite Hythlodaeus to dinner. That's the scope of things. A nice wine to pair with a meal he might enjoy. Between coworkers, you understand."

And if that leads to fucking him across Emet-Selch's desk in front of the man himself? Leaving such an impression before Nabriales' inevitable demise Emet will need to burn that piece of furniture lest he risk relieving his old friend's blissful, back arching pleasure via another man every time he sits to work? Well, mmm. Koinos doesn't need to know about that.

"Terribly gauche of me, I know," Nabriales continues, "but there are so many of us, even just among the fourteen. Keeping all those preferences straight? Nightmare. But you know him well, I presume?"

Baiting. And, aha, sunk. Koinos finally relaxes against the majestic instead of the wall. Marginally. But it's probably the best Nabriales can hope for without spending hours coaxing this shy one out of his shell. 

Hopes to find Hythlodaeus much less meek and timid.

"I suppose so," says Koinos, twisting his bottom lip between his teeth. "But are-are you sure?"

Nabriales smiles. Begins the process of unfastening Koinos' robes just enough he might snake a hand inside. Waits.

"I never offer what I'm not prepared to give," he murmurs, "is that a yes?"

Koinos nods readily enough. Then seems to remember they're at a disadvantage. But Nabriales shushes his blushing, stammered half-phrases finger to his lips. Fishes a glass vial out of a minor pocket dimension, tilting it so that Koinos might see the clear liquid moving inside.

Chuckles. "I _always_ come prepared."

Koinos finishes terribly soon. Unsatisfyingly boring. All over the floor, which Nabriales neatly side steps. Wipes his hand clean using a bit of cleansing water aether and the inside of Koinos' robes. He'll have to create new ones anyway, after the mess they've made of the old ones.

Neither, however, Nabriales' problem. He leaves the establishment as discreetly as he entered, melding seamlessly with a group of chattering patrons on their way out the door. Got what he came for.

So, Hythlodaeus has a taste for the salty and sweet hmm? Nabriales knows exactly what wine to pair with that combination.

A nice riesling, or a lovely tawny port. Decisions, decisions.


	4. a game afoot

Next step: pleasant conversation. Azem's correct in that he's out of Amaurot more often than not, so easy to dodge. Emet-Selch, a little harder, considering he and Hythlodaeus both congregate in the same location. And the whole clingy thing. Really, embarrassing. How do either of them stand being so close? All the time.

But he can't be everywhere at once. And Hythlodaeus leaves the bureau for reasons other than fetching dinner, of course. 

Again, choosing the right moment remains ever paramount. Don't want to interrupt something important, judging by the speed he's walking or what he's carrying. Attracting ire won't do Nabriales any favors.

So a nice, slow pace and mostly paperwork. Avoiding anything crystal or tech related, if the bureau isn't still stuck in the dark ages. Most certainly not anything showing the slightest hint of life. Needn't a repeat of small, furry critters run amok through the streets again. Even if they were terribly cute.

Just Nabriales wandering the streets, not particularly watching his direction and. Oh, dear. 

Nabriales bodily glances right off Hythlodaeus' left side, poor fellow himself absorbed in his papers. Which scatter and float to mess on the ground.

"How terribly rude of me," Nabriales apologizes. Over loud. Makes a production of it, really. Lays the syrupy sweet, fake concern on extra thick. "Never watch where I'm headed. Let me help with that."

Crouches next to him and assists gathering errant pages. Maybe a little too close perhaps. And sure, their fingers glance contact once. Or twice. 

But they hardly share the courtyard in front of the bureau alone. Whispering starts. Low, at first, murmuring voices rising the bolder Nabriales becomes.

Brushing his thumb a little too long over exposed wrist peeking out from Hythlodaeus' sleeve, for one. The chief tilts his head at him, accepting the last of what appears a rather dry report on one of the district wards. Mouth curving up lopsided grin instead of frustration.

How fun. 

Nabriales returns the grin in kind, offering him a hand up. And once accepted, doesn't merely lift him to his feet but smoothly uses the connection to pull him in. So very near.

"Whoops," Nabriales says. Doesn't sound sorry at all. "My bad. I seem to be making such a fool of myself today."

"Indeed?" The enigmatic reply, framed by gentle laughter as they part.

Nabriales gifts him a gentleman's bow, sweeping low yet elegant. Always a winner with the ladies. Gets a few decent sighs out of the meager crowd observing. 

"Indeed," he agrees, "I sincerely hope my clumsiness does not overly hinder your daily pursuits? Character flaw. You understand."

Another laugh. Hythlodaeus tilts his head at the sky - clear skies and sunshine, banked only by the spare cloud moving slow overhead. Then back at Nabriales.

"Far too harsh, your excellency. But nay, today's needs only minor coordination with associates in ward seven and it's subsections. The day is pleasant enough, however, and I thought I might take the opportunity."

"Oh? Bureau business I presume? Do tell."

Any performance featuring Nabriales at its center, improvised or otherwise, plays out certain scripts. Part of the fun for the audience, figuring out which one this leads. A few smart, savvy Amaurotines already sound all a-titter with anticipation about something, however. And the majestic might trend toward a few predictable tropes over time, but when they work, why fix something that isn't broken?

"Ah, awfully boring, I'm afraid," Hythlodaeus says, glancing off to the side. "Infrastructure. Building permits. Residential district expansions, and the like."

Yeesh. Where's the life in that? The joy? The source of excitement and sense of accomplishment? Any kind of potential explosion for the love of the star.

Hmm.

"Do you not preside over the entire bureau? Surely there are others to send running here and there for you."

Hythlodaeus shrugs. "Such are the burdens befallen my position, I suppose."

Burdens, eh?

"Tsk. You, my dear man, should let me invite you to dinner. My place, my treat." And right on cue, Nabriales senses the crowd's rise in excitement. Intrigue. "Ease that strain. If only for one night."

Like baiting Koinos, Nabriales lays out a fairly obvious lure. Dangles it enticingly like an angler reeling in a prize fish. If only to see how Hythlodaeus might respond differently.

Or at all. 

Everyone around them a storm of suggestive, hushed speculation. Giggling. Some denials, off to the side, drowned out in the fervor but only succeeding in adding to thrum building.

Hythlodaeus regards Nabriales ever so calmly. Resembles a bit like the bird his mask emulates. And the majestic far from an ornithologist but the sharp curves and angles, to him, speaks of birds of prey. Predator.

"Heh. Majestic," Hythlodaeus speaks, and the noise around them dies down, "are you sincerely, seriously making a pass at me?"

Nabriales' smile turns a fraction more genuine. How utterly _interesting_.

"Oh love," he all but purrs for lacking the proper vocal chord mechanics, "if the evening should progress in such a fashion? I dare only to hope."

Sweeps toward Hythlodaeus and bends the knee amid a sudden second wind of raucous outcry. Approaching truthfully indecent levels of noise for public consumption. Or so says other, stuffier members of the convocation. Sticks up their asses.

Such as grouchy, grumpy Emet-Selch, finally exiting the building. This shit really, honestly? Writes itself.

Nabriales takes Hythlodaeus' hand into his own, given without resistance. Grips his fingers gently, pressing chaste kiss first to the chief's knuckles. Angles them down for the back of the hand. 

He can't see Emet-Selch for Hythlodaeus stands in the way. But again, could pick him out of a crowd way he exudes seething, cold irritation. More static levin than ice this time. Nabriales admires his range, if nothing else.

But he can stew in his impotent rage all he likes. Half the city will know of these events by end of day. The rest within the week. Keeping Nabriales well protected by the rumor mill's scrutiny - wanting all the torrid details of his latest seduction.

Been oh so long since he's been with another man, after all. One who nods so knowingly, both to Nabriales' request and offers the span of his wrist to a clever tongue. 

Barely hidden at all from nosy onlookers. The majestic glances up through his lashes at Hythlodaeus. Dare he speak so early, before they've even begun? But Nabriales just wants to _play_.

And he may even have found a fellow enthusiast.


	5. never see it coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have offically lost track of how many more chapters this thing should have lmao. Think at least _maybe_ four, including this one?
> 
> All very NSFW from this point out. Will add content warnings to tags as well as the chapter they pop up in. So for this one: dirty talk, magical restraints.

Nabriales expects Hythlodaeus has an idea where he resides within the city. But it's still fun to show up at the bureau and walk out with him on his arm. 

Invites him into his home from the quickly cooling air of a typical autumn night in usual Nabriales flourish. Same smile as before, amused. 

Given red the most prominent color of his typical attire, its lack of presence throughout Nabriales' home perhaps seems odd. But he's always considered it a rather dour color compared to deep, royal purple. 

Dining room adorned in it. Heavy drapes and matching valance, crushed velvet over sheer curtains shading the windows. Crystal glass chandelier shaped to curve up like delicate wings. He brings it alight with a simple clap, illuminating the sleek, oval table and twisted, gold leaf, metal chairs. 

Already set for two, but missing the wine chilling nearby on a silver metallic sidebar.

"It suits you," Hythlodaeus says, of his taste.

Nabriales winks at him, drawing out a chair and gesturing he should sit.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear."

They have a nice dinner. Pleasant, all things considered, the amount of excess work it took to get here. All in the past now.

And as for what lies ahead, Nabriales has hopes. Most definitely reinforced by recent events, but there's no reason to skip the main course straight for dessert. Spoil the stomach.

Shop talk, obviously, though nothing convocation related. Classified, yada, yada, yada, also terribly boring for the most part. Far more interesting, in Nabriales' nearly humble opinion, their own projects.

The various concepts Hythlodaeus maintains and curates. A species of bear of such voracious appetite one adult can consume forty thousand moths in a single day. 

Of course, Nabriales inquires after concepts of a decidedly more playful, adult nature. Waste of resources, frivolous, obscene - he can already hear Lahabrea's protestations in his mind's ear, but the same cannot be said of the smile curving the mouth of the man responsible for making that decision.

Several promising compounds undergoing research at the labs related to energy extraction. Storing and shielding issues notwithstanding, definitely a step up over numerous setbacks the past few months. Many potential uses, not just within Amaurot but outside the city as well. Center of civilization yes, but even their fair city can only swell so large before buckling under her own weight.

Better to support her neighbors, spreading the scarcity of resources and reinforcing Amaurot's creed as caretaker of their shared star.

Hobbies next. 

Nabriales is not at all surprised to find Hythlodaeus likes bird watching. Reflected in his mask, after all. Both of which lay beside their owners on the table, hoods down in the sanctity of private residence. Painting, sketching, any such arts, he has the hands for it somehow. The way he grips a fork, Nabriales can imagine those same fingers wrapped around a brush. Among other things.

Nabriales - music. He knows it surprises. Everyone expects the piano from Elidibus. The much lauded recitals when he finds time to break away from his duties and personal projects. Would never pair the emissary and the majestic plinking away at sheet music all a crowd of themselves alone. 

His side lab projects - all manner of poisons, toxins, and other noxious gases. Mostly byproducts of other chemical reactions but Nabriales ever ascribes waste not, want not. 

And naturally, their friends. Both generally amicable, easy going personalities (when not up to shenanigans) they get along with many. Nabriales, himself, a public favorite among the convocation rivaled only perhaps by Azem or Elidibus.

Of course he teases Hythlodaeus' attachment to Emet-Selch and Azem. It's expected. Friends from a young age, he learns. Schoolmates. Real boy(s) next door sort of fairytale nonsense. Cute.

Nabriales raises surprise naming Fandaniel a close friend. Also, expected. Given his, well, sometimes fanatical devotion in defending the streets. Sure, he's dedicated. But get a good bottle of whiskey in him? Opens right up. Two words, and Nabriales makes sure to stress them - theatre brat.

Hythlodaeus just laughs and shakes his head.

By this point, they've worked their way through dinner and a third of a bottle of port. Comfortably warm, relaxed. Nabriales lets the bottle drain another third before he moves. Clears the table like a proper host, leaving his guest the wine while he washes up.

And then he drapes himself over Hythlodaeus' shoulders. Just breathes in his scent at the nape of his neck. Something spicy, with a bite. And Nabriales grins to be allowed without comment.

Chaste kisses to his skin there, meandering up the side of neck and jaw.

"I would offer suggestions where we might find our dessert, shall we say? Should you wish to hear them?"

His low chuckles vibrate pleasantly against Nabriales' skin, this close.

"Be my guest."

How so very. Fun.

"I want you over Emet-Selch's desk, lovely," Nabriales says, softly, continuing pressing open mouth kisses into the column of his throat. "Open you so slow time stills. But for my fingers, buried deep and far, stretching and slicking you so nicely, yes? I want you wet enough I could slam home the very first thrust. Wouldn't give you a subpar fuck though, fear not."

Nabriales moves in front, looming over Hythlodaeus until he has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. 

"Like you on your knees first. Hard and heavy with it," he continues, "while I take that throat of yours. Catch your breath on my cock - slide of my skin between your lips, smell of it, tasting _me_."

Nabriales pauses, turning away and leaning into the table. Closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply and sighs in satisfaction as if savoring the thought.

"Would you let me pull all that lovely, pretty hair? So I get back real far. Make you choke. Make you cry. You've a face for tears, sweetheart. How's that sound?"

Hythlodaeus has little expression to gauge interest, and offers nothing to his query. Mildly disappointing. Nabriales doesn't mind a partner who can't keep his pace, but at least a blush. Or squirm would be nice.

If it weren't for the tent in his robes, Nabriales might doubt his efforts please at all. Time to kick it up a notch.

He cages him in, planting one hand on the table, one on the chair behind Hythlodaeus' back.

"Need to work you again before I toss you over his desk. How overwhelming might that feel? Overstimulated, hmm?" Drops his voice low, husky. Intimate. "How wrecked should your poor voice be by then? Hoarse? Cracked."

Nabriales bends down, real close. That his lips caress the shell of his ear.

"I like pain. How do you feel about my hands around your throat while I spill deep inside your body? Fill you full to bursting and more."

Hythlodaeus tilts his head to the side. Meets his eyes. Appraisingly. 

"Would you like to know what I think of your inventive imagination?"

The majestic waves a hand gallantly into the air. Steps back expectantly.

"I think," Hythlodaeus says, slowly, "you should kneel."

Nabriales blinks. 

Some unseen power forces his knees to the ground at a spread. Just far enough away from anything sharp he doesn't poke an eye out.

Jarring pain jolts straight through thick thigh muscle and hits him right in the groin, blunted just pleasant by rolling waves of warmth.

He can't help the harsh groan that escapes his lips. Nor the ones that follow the same force wrenching and locking his arms behind his back. His body jerks in the process, rubbing already over sensitized skin firmly into the constricting cloth of his smalls.

"Fuck," Nabriales hisses, wincing up at him. "What is this?"

Hythlodaeus props a cheek in one palm, giving him a stare almost of pity.

"You make an ah, strong case," he says, "Perhaps one day. Did you think I wouldn't discover what you did to Koinos?"

The majestic scoffs. "That chump? Completely consensual. And by the looks of this? You'd eat him alive. You know it."

Hythlodaeus laughs. Twirls a finger and Nabriales feels his knees spread further. Stretch burns up the inside of his thighs. Damn fine. He bites his lip to keep from whining.

"He's Azem's friend. You should have left him alone. Now I have to punish you. Don't act like you aren't getting off on it."

Well, fuck. Again. Nabriales barks out a laugh and grins at him.

"Yet once more you surprise, love. Should I choose a word, then? Majestic. Easy."

Challenge accepted. 

"Now let's see how long you can hold me, hmm?"


	6. beg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: more restraints, use of one partner as furniture, begging
> 
> This went places ok, don't @ me.

Nabriales tests the strength of the bonds holding him. Impressed an experimental press of his own aether rebounds and singes his wrist.

Took him by surprise. Not playing around. Oh, this. Ah, ha ha. This could be fun. Provided he has the balls to go the distance.

"Really rather good with this," Nabriales says, "control solid. Real tight. You and Emet must get up to some real kinky shit behind bureau doors."

Hythlodaeus gives him an unreadable look. Turns away to pour another glass of wine. In the span of a few moments - scarlet liquid cresting glass sides in gentle waves - another band of constriction settles snug around the base of Nabriales' cock.

Not too tight it's uncomfortable, or cuts off circulation. But enough Nabriales sees bright spots clouding his vision for several long moments. Moans loudly and struggles futilely to thrust into that grip.

_That's the fucking ticket._

"Passing no judgement," he grins, breathing heavily, "believe me. But tell me something, if you would be so kind?"

Nabriales licks his lips. Practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Which one?"

A raised eyebrow is his only received response and Nabriales' grin widens.

"Which one," the majestic repeats, bracing himself, "lets you fuck them around like this? I bet it's Azem. The way that bastard flaunts protocol on the daily? Bet he's a wet dream under a heavy hand."

Hythlodaeus sighs. Drains half his glass and snaps his fingers. 

Nabriales well knows neither one of his fellow members have laid a hand on Hythlodaeus. They wouldn't be here, if such a thing were true. But he figures? The quickest route to breaking this magic, mostly without cheating, lies through them.

His knees spread further yet. Balance fails Nabriales punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him as he pitches forward. Careening toward solid, unforgiving wooden paneling.

Caught inches from smashing his face off the floor, lowered gentler than Nabriales expected. Not that he anticipated ending up cheek pressed to the ground, bent over and ass in the air.

Well, should there be a round two, this position presents options.

Weight lands across his back, settling on the apex of his ass. Nabriales grunts, driven further into the paneling. 

Using him as a footstool. Oh, Hythlodaeus has _definitely_ done this before. Purely academic interest be damned.

"Do you understand the meaning of the term punishment, Nabriales? I do not believe you do. And until you learn, or admit defeat, in such a state we shall remain."

He can't be serious. But the seconds tick by, lengthening into minutes. Multiple.

And what constricts around Nabriales' cock, keeping him from the release, the pleasure he desires also keeps him from flagging in the absence of stimulation. 

A clever system. And absolutely maddening.

The heat never. Ends. Just builds. And builds. Like stoking a blazing fire and sitting much too close to the raging flames until eyes sting and skin itches from contact burn. 

He wants to strip off all his clothes just to be free of touching anything that isn't his own skin. Even the once cool wooden paneling turns warm, slick with his sweat.

Nabriales grits his teeth. Curls his fingers and shuffles forward just a fraction but oh - heh. Tests that again, just to be sure, managing to swallow down a sigh of relief. Oh, it's tight, it's strong, but not unbreakable. And he is not of the fourteen, the majestic, a sage of his own right just for his good looks and suave charms.

Those are just perks.

Nabriales could break this. Have Hythlodaeus bent over that table in an instant and at his mercy.

He could. And it is more than a little tempting. If only. If only it weren't so rare _anyone_ ever gets this close to what Nabriales really wants. So rare indeed.

He shivers. Releases any fight left in his body and sags a little forward. Both fully aware, of course, when and how he gives in - the muttered "please." What it means.

The weight vanishes off his back near immediately, noise near his head on either side indicating where Hythlodaeus plants his feet for the leverage to gently haul Nabriales out of his uncomfortable position. Drops the hold long enough he can stretch the kinks out, the aches specifically in his neck, shoulders, wrists, and legs.

"Do you want to stop?"

Already knows the answer, but Nabriales knew he would check, anyway. 

Just for that, the majestic bites his tongue against usual sarcastic retort. Simply drops to his knees again, hands behind his back. Rewarded with an appreciative hum. The reapplication of all bands of force.

Nabriales tilts his head up into the hand that cups his jaw. Chases the thumb that traces his bottom lip with his tongue.

"Really gonna make me say it. Let me taste you. Please."

Hythlodaeus looks at him askance. Laughs. Full on, fist to his mouth, that particular expression when something truly, utterly amuses him. 

Making Emet-Selch blush by hugging him round the neck in public. Spending literally any amount of time in Azem's presence.

That Nabriales would dearly love to suck him off, right here. Right now. That he craves it. Salivates for it.

Hythlodaeus turns thankfully closer, allowing Nabriales to press his cheek against the inside of his thigh. 

_So fucking close_. But he's going to need help lifting those robes.

"Hmm," Hythlodaeus considers, definitely not helping, "have you ever had to ask, Nabriales? Surely you possess the skill. Myriad voices raised in your praise, yes?"

Nabriales murmurs something against his thigh, though whether in assent or contradiction remains unclear.

"Perk up, now. Make a good impression, and _beg_."

Nabriales swallows his pride. And unabashedly begs. With abandon.


	7. wreck me and let me have you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: cbt, questionable use of a safeword (safe poison?)

"Love how you're playing this," Nabriales tries for cavalier but breath stutters, ghostly fingers skating up his chest, under his robes, to twist, to tease at his nipples. "Haa. Never would've, would've expected you -"

Stronger now, the real damn feel of phantom flesh rubbing raised nubs into hardened pebbles. Nabriales squirms with as much reckless abandon as allowed, panting openly.

"Fucking _please_. I want it. Need it, need you!" Presses his cheek further into Hyth's thigh, his nose rubbing against the outline of hardness. Mmm. Nabriales breathes in his musky, slightly damp scent, heat licking at his skin through a layer of thin cloth and he _hungers_.

"Wonder what's up under there, huh? Get it all under my tongue. Real good with my mouth. Promise you. Swear it on my title. I don't swear on the name lightly Hythlo -"

The shock tingles down his spine, electric clarity, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. Shout torn from his throat. He wheezes from the force of it, moans rocking his body minutely in time to its aftershocks. Feels the pull of leftover power shift down his belly, pool behind his balls, already so heavy and full.

Nabriales' eyes blink, rapidly clearing away tears and he dazedly shivers. 

He wouldn't.

Hythlodaeus clicks his tongue and Nabriales buries his face, his groan, deeper into the other man's robes.

Hot damn. He _would_.

Such delicious, white hot agony! Groans, moans turn to whines. Trailing whimpers and oh he _tries_. Mouths at the clothed erection that's right at hand for the throbbing one he's denied between his own legs. Licks and pleads.

"Lightning! You, you -" shaking, gasping delight. Cackling slips from the majestic's lips between breaths, "brilliant, bloody ruthless creature you. You're wasted on them, lovely."

Fingers curl in his hair, nails scraping lazily into his scalp. Hythlodaeus doesn't respond to such an obvious taunt and nor does he pull. Nabriales pouts. That just will not do.

"Would proud Emet-Selch do this for you? Get on his knees, _for you_. Take you down? Worship you till you spill down his throat?"

Those fingers clench, painfully, in Nabriales' hair. Yes, yes. Just like that.

"Would Azem? Would he live to set you free, like I would? Lay you out all over him? Eat up the sounds you make the second you come undone, writhing in bliss for him?"

When Hythlodaeus pulls, he really _pulls_ , yanking with uncharacteristic snarl. It just directs more blood straight to the majestic's cock, if possible at this venture. Leaves him light headed. Tingling in his extremities Nabriales only notices he's been released from confinement when he's getting slammed into a wall.

"Shut up about them," hissed at him, "shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Wants to tell him to _make_ him, but then there's a mouth on his and a body crashing into Nabriales' arms. Well, that's one way. But it's still not what the majestic really wants.

He wraps his arms around the other man, catches skin between his teeth and bites down, drawing blood. Hythlodaeus hisses over the blooming tang of copper in his mouth, glaring at Nabriales. Gets a smirk. Then crushed into a bear hug, Nabriales leveraging strength and underhanded aether boosted speed to flip him around.

Drops onto abused knees but barely feels such pain, all of it feeding into the heavy throb between his thighs. So much pressure rolling back and forth with every movement he makes he could fucking sob with how much he wants.

Nabriales can hardly think straight (ha!) enough to ruck up the other man's robes and yank his smalls down his thighs. Decidedly petulantly leaves teeth marks in his skin for the hand that sinks into his hair and pulls him out from under that blessed place.

"Ruthless villain!" he cries, clawing hands into his hips, these at least allowed to dip under the robes, "what more must I speak? Use me, damn you! You know what I want! Have I not satisfied your penance?"

And Hythlodaeus. Laughs. At. Him. Nabriales whips his head up, angry. Furious. Catches glint of the vial tilted between his fingers. Looks familiar, actually.

Oh. That's how he knew. Well, excuse a man if he misplaces the lube during getting busy, thanks. No one's perfect.

And Koinos probably flipped like a fish the second he saw the chief holding that.

"So dramatic, majestic. Thought you might want this. And if I'm to use you, we're going to need something new."

New? Ah. Nabriales considers himself highly skilled indeed, but speaking clearly while his mouth's full of another man's cock? Sadly not perfected. Yet.

Nabriales flexes his fingers, applying just a touch of toxin to the tips of his nails. Digs in hard. Hythlodaeus takes an equally deep breath but, much to Nabriales' intrigue, his arousal jumps, not flags. 

Fun.

Of course, too much poison and he'll have a very poor day. And a bad trip besides.

"Second nature," Nabriales assures, "now, and I say this with any and all possible interpretations - wreck me and let me have you."


End file.
